To Risks Unknown Page 19
‘Captain Scarlett?’
‘Surely.’ Ross was getting restless, as if unused to so much talk. ‘Trotter was one of his team in those days. He must have known him better than most.’
Crespin walked back to the foremast, his mind turning over Ross’s information. What sort of a game was Scarlett playing? If Trotter’s death made little sense, this latest piece of deception made no sense at all.
A seaman muttered, ‘Dory’s comin’ back!’
Ross hurried from the wheel. It was amazing how quickly he could move when he had a mind to. ‘Cover it with the Stens, lads!’ To another he rapped, ‘Stand by the cable in case we have to cut loose in a hurry!’
Preston’s voice echoed above the wind and spray. ‘It’s all right! It’s me!’ It was hardly a correct approach, but there was no mistaking his drawling tone.
The boat banged alongside and a grapnel thudded into the bulwark.
Crespin stayed by the mast watching the dark heads rising above the pitching rail and wondering what Coutts would have to report this time. But the man with Preston was certainly not Coutts. He was short and shaggy, his thick jerkin criss-crossed with bandoliers and a heavy carbine slung across one shoulder.
Preston saw Crespin and said quickly, ‘Be careful what you say, sir. I’m not sure if he speaks English or if he’s just pretending to be awkward.’
The man shambled across the deck and peered closely at Crespin’s uniform. He smelt strongly of woodsmoke and dirt. Then he nodded violently and gestured with his thumb towards the cliffs. Preston spoke to him for several seconds and the man replied in a short, guttural whisper.
‘He says we are to enter the inlet, sir.’ Preston sounded tired. ‘He’s not exactly forthcoming.’
‘But where is Captain Coutts?’ Crespin felt isolated and useless. ‘What did you find?’
Preston stared at him. ‘Oh, didn’t I say? Well, we managed to find a beach for the dory and we were just getting it hauled out of the water when about a dozen of these characters pounced on us.’ He looked over the bulwark. ‘I think they were expecting us. We tried to speak to them but they just kept prodding us with their guns and demanding that we anchor the boat inside the inlet.’
Crespin clenched his fists. ‘But are they …?’
‘Partisans?’ Preston studied him thoughtfully. ‘Could be. Come to that, they could be anything. But they’ve kept Captain Coutts as an insurance policy. The rest is up to us.’
Ross said gruffly, ‘Don’t be so big-headed, young fellow!’ He looked at Crespin. ‘It is surely up to you, sir?’
Crespin nodded. It was the first time Ross had called him sir. He must be more worried than he showed.
He said, ‘If we stay out here we shall be asking for trouble.’ He made up his mind. ‘Break out the anchor and start up the engine, Skipper.’
The newcomer had been standing in silence watching them with obvious interest. As Ross moved towards the wheel he unslung the carbine and worked the bolt noisily. Then he squatted on the bulwark and pointed the gun at the shore. He spoke briefly, and Preston spread his hands before interpreting unhelpfully, ‘He just says to go on in, sir!’
As soon as the anchor broke free the schooner seemed to dance sideways out of control. But with the engine coughing and roaring Ross managed to bring her round until the bows were pointing directly towards what looked like a solid wall of rock.
It was some small comfort to see the partisan, or whatever he was, sitting unconcernedly on the bulwark smoking a cheroot and swinging one foot as the schooner bucked and rolled beneath him.
Ross muttered, ‘Ah, I have the feel of it now.’ He said no more, but spun the wheel hard over as two tall rocks reared out of the darkness and slid away over the starboard quarter like a pair of browsing sea-monsters.
All at once the engine noises became louder and the sea less choppy, and Crespin could feel the land closing around him, like a blind man walking into an empty room.
The Yugoslav grunted and gesticulated sharply with the carbine.
Preston said, ‘Anchor, sir.’
Crespin waved his hand and from forward came the answering ring of metal as the slip was knocked free and the cable roared once more through the fairleads. Ross stamped his foot twice on the deck and obediently the engine sighed gratefully into silence.
Crespin said, ‘Tell your friend that we’ll wait for first light. Then we’ll go ashore in the dory.’
He did not have to understand the language to know what Preston was going to translate. He saw the little Yugoslav’s teeth gleaming in the darkness, heard the taut anger in his throaty voice.
Preston said, ‘He says now, sir. You are to go with him right away. I am to go, too, apparently.’
It was pointless to argue. If the whole German army was poised on the island it could not make much difference now. They needed help, and these people, whoever they were, must know it by now. So perhaps the villagers Coutts had questioned had not been so dumb and helpless as he had imagined.
He said flatly, ‘Right, Skipper, you’ll stay in charge. If there’s any trouble you’ll up anchor and try and run for it. But if this is a trap and there’s no way out, then don’t try and fight. There’s no sense in getting killed for nothing.’
Ross followed him to the side. ‘At least they are wanting to talk with you. That must be a good sign, surely? The Germans are less inclined for such things!’ Then he stood aside while Crespin lowered himself into the dory alongside.
Preston took the oars and pulled strongly towards the overhanging side of the inlet. He said between pulls, ‘Let’s hope they’re not cannibals!’
As the boat ground awkwardly into some rough sand several figures moved swiftly from the rocks, surrounding it and shutting it off from the sea. It must be getting lighter already, Crespin thought grimly. He could see the dull gleam of levelled weapons, the cold watchfulness of the bearded men around him. He climbed over the gunwale and then turned as a hand darted out and dragged his pistol from its holster.
Preston said sharply, ‘That’s all right, sir. Let him take it.’ There was an unusual crispness in his tone and Crespin let his arms fall to his sides.
Someone prodded his spine with a rifle, and in single file the little party began to climb a steep narrow path which seemed to lead directly up and through a split in the cliff above the beach. It was hard going, and in the greying light Crespin saw that some of his companions were without footwear of any kind and their weapons varied from old Russian rifles of the First World War to new German Schmeissers. No attempt was made to blindfold him or stop him from looking around the narrow path, and he guessed that they considered it quite unnecessary. If he failed to convince their leader there would be no return journey for him or any of the schooner’s crew.
At the top of the path he paused and looked back. The water of the inlet was like black silk, and around and above the tall sides he could see the craggy ridges and hills of the island, bare and very forbidding. The schooner was still hidden in deep shadow, but beyond the narrow entrance he could see the white wave-crests gliding past driven by the wind and current, so that it looked as if the island was swivelling on a giant pivot.
Another rifle jabbed his spine and he moved forward again. It was even colder on the top of the cliff and the path was rough and treacherous with loose stones and small stunted patches of scrub. Bare feet or not the men kept up a steady pace with no sign of breathlessness or discomfort.
They followed the side of the cliff without a pause, and Crespin became aware of the size of the inlet beneath him. Long and sheltered, like a Scottish loch, with the merest hint of a tiny crescent-shaped beach every so often to break the monotony of the cliffs along the sides.
They walked for an hour, and by the time they had reached a bend in the path Crespin could see a great towering hill which must be almost the dead centre of the island itself. Five thousand feet or more, he decided, its jagged crest already pale grey in the morning light.
But they were not going to the village. They turned on to another, even narrower, track, and after walking for about fifteen minutes arrived at what looked like a barricade of stone blocks. In fact, it was a massively constructed wall which had been built across the entrance of a cavern, so that once through a narrow entrance they were standing inside a man-made bunker. It was lit by oil lamps, and the rock sides were glistening with moisture from the mountain above it. Crude partitions had been built with ammunition boxes and old crates, and as the men pushed Crespin deeper into the cavern he saw figures wrapped in blankets sleeping in rows beside their weapons, oblivious to the dripping moisture and the crude rock beneath them.
One man pulled a curtain aside and gestured with his rifle. Crespin walked into this smaller cave and heard the man at his back lower the rifle to the ground. He was alone now, for Preston had been escorted past the cave and he could hear the footsteps dying away, as if being swallowed up inside the solid rock.
There was a screen at one end of the cave, and from behind it came a tall figure dressed in a black leather coat. He was wiping his hands very carefully on a towel, his close-set eyes gleaming in the lamplight as he seated himself slowly behind a trestle table. His features were tanned and deeply lined, and he could be almost any age from thirty to fifty. He had a neatly trimmed beard, and as he thrust his long legs beneath the table Crespin saw that he was wearing a beautifully made pair of German jackboots.
Then the man looked up from the table and studied him for several seconds. His features were impassive and devoid of expression. By the rough doorway the escort said something in a low voice, and there was something in his tone which told Crespin he was in the presence of the real leader.
The man at the table laid the towel carefully on a pile of grenades. When he spoke it was in a flat, measured voice, again quite devoid of animation. Crespin stiffened. He was speaking to him in German. The sense of failure and despair swept over him in an uncontrollable flood. He thought of Ross and the others waiting aboard the schooner, still holding on to hope. Trusting in his judgement.
He replied bitterly, ‘I am Lieutenant-Commander John Crespin, Royal Navy. I do not speak German.’
The man at the table glanced at the sentry and grimaced slightly. Then he said, ‘Very well. We will speak in English, if you wish to prolong this little game.’
Crespin felt something like blind anger sweeping through him. The confidence of the man, the cold indifference of his tone made him want to jump the last few feet and choke the life out of him. The man at his back must have sensed this and he felt the rifle nudge him warningly.
He said harshly, ‘I am a British officer and my men are members of the armed services.’
‘I see.’ He nodded distantly. ‘Yet your approach and the garb of your men would suggest otherwise.’ He smiled gently. ‘But I see that by wearing the correct uniform you at least hoped to retain the safety of convention.’
Crespin did not reply. He thought of Coutts and Preston. They were probably dead already. If they were lucky.
‘My name is Soskic.’ The dark eyes studied Crespin’s face searchingly. ‘I am the commandant here. Whether you live or die could depend on my final opinion.’
‘I have said all I intend to say.’ Crespin felt the walls closing in on him. ‘If you are a German officer you will know that is all I can say.’
Soskic touched his small beard and put his head on one side. ‘Then you are not a German?’ He smiled again. ‘That is interesting. It is also what your man Coutts has told me.’
‘What have you done with him?’
‘I will ask the questions!’ The smile vanished. ‘I have been told of your presence here in the islands. I wondered what sort of story you might bring. Now that you have arrived all you can do is accuse me of being a German!’ He spat the word out like an obscenity. ‘I am Soskic. I command here, not because of the Germans, but in spite of them!’
He gestured sharply with his hand and Crespin felt a stool being thrust against his legs.
‘Please sit down, Commander Crespin.’ Soskic rested his hands on the table and stared at them gravely. ‘Yes, I knew about your coming, but I could do nothing to help you until I was sure. Sure of you, and what you bring. This is a different war from yours. There are no rules and no single goal but victory, no matter at what cost. Our leader, Comrade Tito, is fighting his own war on our mainland, but out here we have to manage as best we can. Survival is only a beginning.’
Crespin watched him, noting the strain in his close-set eyes, the carefully controlled tenseness of his body. So Soskic was a partisan, or so he said.
He said, ‘I expect that Captain Coutts has told you of our mission?’
Soskic eyed him calmly. ‘You are asking or telling? No matter. I have spoken with, er, Captain Coutts. He is an interesting, and I suspect a very dangerous man. But you are, he tells me, in charge of this matter, so now that you have made this somewhat hazardous visit perhaps you would be good enough to enlighten me?’
Crespin felt his wound throbbing in time with his thoughts. ‘If you knew we were coming, why all these questions?’
Soskic pressed his fingertips together and looked at the table. ‘I was once a schoolmaster in Dubrovnik. It is a habit with me still. That is how I speak your appalling language so well, eh?’ For once his smile had some warmth in it.
He hurried on, ‘Two days ago we had another visit. Not from the Germans, for they have learned it is too costly to embark on such foolishness.’ His eyes hardened. ‘Since they invaded my country they have had to fight to hold on to every piece of land. Month by month we have struck at them until now they are fearful to stray away from their garrisons and their strongpoints. We have almost driven them from the islands, but our victories have a double edge. They cannot reach us without great loss, but neither can we help our comrades on the mainland.’ His voice became distant. ‘So our visit was not of the Germans. They were fellow countrymen, at least by birth. They came with promises, high-sounding pleas for mutual trust in our common fight against the invader.’
Crespin asked carefully, ‘The Chetniks?’
The eyes fixed on his face. ‘You have been doing some study of our problems?’ He shrugged. ‘It is so. They are scum, more so because they belong to my country. They remember their king and they dream of the time he will return after we have rid the country of the enemy!’ He shook his head violently. ‘But we want no king, nor do we need their old way of serfdom and bourgeois oppression! So they made up their wretched minds that it was better to retain power under the Germans than to fight for a free Yugoslavia!’
Crespin said, ‘It has happened in other countries, too.’
‘It has. But in Europe the oppressed people know that soon now they will be freed by an Allied invasion. Out here we have still a long way to go, and there are not many left with the strength and the power to fight. In a year, maybe in months, these Royalist carrion may have recovered control, so no matter which side wins your war, my people are lost forever.’
‘When they came here, what happened?’
Soskic stood up and walked to the doorway. As he pulled aside the blanket curtain he asked, ‘Did you smell the smoke? It came from the houses those swine burned before we drove them back into the sea!’ He returned to the table and sat down heavily. ‘I hold myself to blame. I trusted them even though I knew they could not move so freely without the knowledge of the Germans. But I hoped, and hope is an empty thing without the backing of deeds. The Germans are like maggots. They devour and corrupt everything they touch, but even so I chose to hope that some of these men were genuine in their desire to help us.
’ He shrugged. ‘And I need help, even from them. I can hold this island against a force fifty times as big as mine, but where is the point of that? I am the prisoner in a cage, not the enemy!’
Crespin said, ‘I came here to offer you that help.’
The other man studied him without speaking. Then he said slowly, ‘For what purpose?’
‘Does it matter? We have a common enemy, that must surely be enough.’
Soskic nodded sadly. ‘When this war is finished we may find ourselves on opposite sides again.’
‘When it is won there may be no sides left to take.’
‘As you say!’ Soskic walked round the table and held out his hand. ‘Captain Coutts has already told me all this, but I wanted to hear it from you.’
Crespin grasped his hand. ‘Then you did not really think I was a German at all?’
Soskic laughed. ‘You? A German?’ He laughed again and the sentry joined in without understanding a word which was said. ‘If you had been, I think you would have gone away as soon as you heard I had taken Coutts as a hostage. Only an Englishman would look on the matter of loyalty with such foolish seriousness and disregard for his own safety!’ He shook his head. ‘Oh no, I merely wanted to hear about you. If you are the sort of man who can help us.’
The curtain moved aside and Coutts walked into the cave, a bottle of wine poking from his goatskin coat.
‘Well, have you finished yet?’
Soskic eyed him gravely. ‘Finished,’ he said. ‘And well satisfied.’
Crespin felt slightly dazed. ‘I would like to see the inlet properly as soon as it’s light enough. I think we should be able to use it as our forward base.’
The commandant studied him thoughtfully. ‘First you will sleep. Then we will unload the cargo you have brought me and which neither of you has so far mentioned.’ He clapped his hand on Crespin’s shoulder. ‘And then, Commander, I will show you our rhinoceros.’ Without another word he strode from the cave, his footsteps fading almost at once beyond the curtain.
Crespin looked at Coutts’ grubby face. ‘Rhinoceros?’